


Long Live the Queen

by Cinaed



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The convent, Morgana thinks, is not fit for a queen, or even a peasant. (Morgana and Guinevere, after.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bechdel Test Ficathon. The prompt was _Arthurian legend - Morgana, Guinevere - the queen is dead, long live the queen_.

The convent, Morgana thinks, is not fit for a queen, or even a peasant. It is shabby and run-down, weariness radiating off it like waves. If stone could burn, she would raze this place to its foundations and salt the earth beneath it for sullying Guinevere's person with its presence.

She does not bother speaking with one of the wary sisters guarding the front gates. They will only try to claim Guinevere is dead and buried, and she does not have the patience for their pitiable attempts at deceit. Instead, she wraps herself in shadows, her sorcery settling over her like a cloak, and slips past them.

When Morgana finds her, Guinevere is in a small room, kneeling in prayer. She doesn't jump when Morgana calls her name, but Morgana sees the way her shoulders tighten, hears the quick breath of surprise.

"Why are you here, Morgana?" Guinevere asks. She remains kneeling, but glances over her shoulder.

This time, it is Morgana who bites back a gasp. Guinevere's face is pale and haggard with grief. White has crept into her hair, and there are a half-dozen new wrinkles around her eyes and unsmiling mouth.

The last time they had met, Guinevere had been tired and anxious, but her eyes had been filled with confidence as she'd looked upon her husband. After all, who could possibly defeat Arthur?

"I'm here to visit you, of course, and see if you have gone mad," Morgana says, once she can speak. The same anger that had lit in her chest at the sight of the convent is flickering back into life. "This convent--"

"This convent is my home now," Guinevere says. Her voice is quiet, but there is steel to the words. "It is where I belong."

"You are the queen!" Morgana snaps. Morgana had hated Guinevere once, when all she had known of her had been her faithlessness to Arthur. But that had been many years ago, and Guinevere had long-since proved herself to be every inch the true queen of Camelot. Surely she must see she is needed.

"I _was_ the queen," says Guinevere, very quietly.

"You can be again, if you wished. There are those who would follow you--"

"Me?" Guinevere says. A wry smile settles upon her lips, one that is resigned and amused all at once. "And how shall I rebuild Camelot, Morgana? With you by my side as my Merlin? Shall I gather my ladies-in-waiting to be my Lady Knights of the Round Table?"

Morgana winces a little at the mockery in Guinevere's voice, but doesn't yield. "So you will let the kingdom fall to pieces," she says.

Guinevere rises then, and moves towards Morgana. Morgana, expecting a slap, is startled when Guinevere takes her hand instead. "Morgana, look around you. It already has."

"We could rebuild it," Morgana says, but it is weaker than before. She has seen the ruined cities and towns, the desolation and havoc Mordred had brought upon the country.

Guinevere's hands are cold as they clasp hers. There is an herb that would better the circulation in her hands, Morgana thinks, but she does not know if Guinevere would listen to her advice. She sighs. "You would be happy here, truly? With these silly little women and their God?"

"He is my god as well," Guinevere says, amusement reaching her eyes.

Morgana snorts, but lets the comment pass. "Very well then." With her free hand, she pulls a pin from her hair. The jewel shines crimson even in the dim light of the room. "If you change your mind, simply prick your finger with this pin and call my name three times."

Guinevere takes the pin and looks at it for a long while, silent. "Thank you," she says at last, and presses a kiss that is warm and dry to Morgana's cheek. "I will not change my mind. But I thank you for the choice."

"Farewell," Morgana says. She can still feel the kiss on her cheek, like a ghost's touch.

"Farewell," Guinevere echoes.

She is almost to the door when Guinevere calls, "And what shall _you_ do?"

Morgana closes her eyes and smiles. Now that Arthur is no longer here to try and bring her to task for her actions, and Guinevere does not need her to help rebuild Camelot, she can do as she pleases.

"I shall enjoy myself," she says, and laughs.


End file.
